


Fishing for Supper | Raven at the Writing Desk

by Raven_At_The_Writing_Desk



Category: Horror - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Gen, Happy halloween, Horror, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_At_The_Writing_Desk/pseuds/Raven_At_The_Writing_Desk





	Fishing for Supper | Raven at the Writing Desk

#  Fishing for Supper 

Everyone would agree that you don’t eat what you catch out of the White River. There were always jokes about the three-eyed fish and dead bodies floating to the top. “How do you know it’s Spring? When the bodies pop up in the White River.”

Gabo didn’t care. Fish from the river were free, and free food was good food. His wife managed to keep a vegetable patch alive in their backyard, and Gabo’s job was to fish and occasionally snare hunt. It was a trick his father had taught him when they were migrant workers, chasing the seasonal crops across America. If it wasn’t for Gabo’s three kids, he and Antonia would still be working the way their parents had. Now though, the kids were in school, and he was a maintenance man for the college, and Antonia cleaned houses and hotels.

Gabo liked the harvesting better. Fresh air, sunshine, and fresh food. Antonia had insisted, however, that the kids stay in one school, not like them. So he rented them a house near the college and told Antonia he had to fish for them. He smiled to himself. Yes, the fish were food, but really, he needed this time, he wanted it to himself. Early sun, the shining water, and only a few other brave souls who dared to eat what the White River provided.

He scoffed at those that told him not to fish here, they were afraid of myths and rumors. He’d only ever seen one dead body, and it was barely in the water. He’d just moved a few feet downriver and the fishing had been just fine. He’d never pulled anything more gruesome than old clothing from the river, and sometimes all those needed was a quick wash and they were just fine too. Gabo was pretty sure, if he really needed to, he could camp beside the river and it would provide everything he needed.

He whistled as he cast his two lines with little bells on them and set up his lawn chair. He had a small cooler full of soda, he still had to work that day and some small sandwiches that Antonia made him with her homemade bread. He’d snuck a chocolate bar in there and was looking forward to it after he had his breakfast. With his little fishing camp created, he paced around a bit checking the surrounding foliage for any signs of life other than him. He didn’t find anything today, but his lines jiggled and he went to check on them.

He pulled on the line and decided it probably wasn’t a fish, the drag on the other end was too heavy, which meant it was probably clothing or a boot. Still, he was supersized at the amount of fight whatever was on the other end had in it. The current here wasn’t that strong. Determined now, and wanting to get whatever it was clear of his other line, Gabo gave the line one tremendous yank.

The thing, for it was a thing, gave a breathy roar as it came out of the water. It clawed the air with hooked, human-like hands. It flailed in the air, and then the pebbly bank as it fell forward to its knees. It looked human, but grey and bloated, and oozing from several raw holes in its torso. It gazed at Gabo with milky-white eyes and a fish nibbled head. It crawled forward and reached for him.

Gabo screamed, as anyone would have, and turned and ran. He ran leaving everything he had brought with him, two sturdy polls, his lawn chair, his lunch, and his chocolate bar. He ran huffing a swearing all the way back to his car and he drove away, not bothering to check if the things had followed him. He had three kids, he couldn’t die and leave Antonia to care for them on her own!

***

The thing that had once been Kevin Mertz watched the frightened man run. He tried to call out, but his throat didn’t seem to work right, it felt like something was stuck in it. He also found he couldn’t stand upright and crawled over to the chair set up on the bank. He flopped like a fish there and noticed the tiny, red cooler. Opening it he pulled out the can of Pepsi and hooked the tab with his finger. Soda would clear his throat.

But when he tried to pull the tab, his nail pulled off instead, and a good chunk of his fingertip remained wedged underneath the can tab. The thing that had once been Kevin Mertz howled, his vocal cords dissolving as he slowly began to decompose.

* * *

* * *


End file.
